Kane

by Jennifer Blake

  She felt sick. It was hard to believe Lewis Crompton’s grandson would try this, in spite of the incident in the coffin yesterday. It was so isolated out here, so far away from everything she considered safe and civilized. No passersby, no telephones, no police. She had no weapon, no way, short of tooth and nail, of fighting back.

  The most devastating question, then, was the one with the most doubtful answer. Was there any way on earth she could stop whatever he had in mind?

  4

  The truck neared an avenue of live oaks that led to a West Indies–style house with a hipped roof that overhung deep, railed porches on the front and back. A mud-splashed Jeep came down the shady drive, halting at the highway for them to pass. Regina noticed the brief movement as Kane lifted his fingers in a wave to the other driver. Instead of returning it, however, the man in the Jeep blew a quick tattoo on his horn. Kane braked to a stop, then reversed until he was at the drive again. With an expert movement, he whipped the truck off the road and in front of the sports vehicle.

  A tall, dark-haired man climbed out and came toward them, walking around to the driver’s-side window. “How’s it going, Kane?” he said, then looked past him to Regina and touched the bill of his cap. “Ma’am.”

  “Can’t complain,” Kane answered, sitting relaxed with one strong wrist resting across the steering wheel. “Miss Dalton, my cousin, Luke Benedict. Regina’s here on business, Luke.”

  Regina leaned across Kane to offer her hand with a conventional greeting, then added, “We were just speaking about you, I believe.”

  “Were you now?” Luke said, grinning as he retained her hand. “I can’t imagine anything Kane could say about me that a lady like you should hear.”

  “Boyish exploits,” she answered, responding with a smile to the unabashed admiration in Luke Benedict’s eyes and sheer joy of living that radiated from him. It was easy to see the resemblance to Kane in the height, rangy build, and strong bone structure. At the same time, Luke was different, with a more blue-black shade to his hair, deeper olive coloring, and eyes of such a dark brown that the irises and pupils seemed to merge, creating laughter-bright depths like sunlight striking through dark pools.

  “Even worse,” Luke returned with a droll wag of his head. “But Kane can’t have bad-mouthed me too much, since he must have been in it up to his neck, too. Not like now, when he’s too much of a stick-in-the-mud to have fun.”

  “For that, you can unhand Regina,” Kane said, grasping her wrist in one hand and Luke’s in the other and pulling them apart. “Why the devil did you flag us down? Make it fast. We’ve got places to go and things to do.”

  “Busy, busy.” Luke winked at Regina as he spoke across his cousin. “You do know he’s a driven personality? You’ll have to make allowances?”

  Regina hardly knew how to answer that, even if she had been paying strict attention. Her concentration was on her wrist that was still imprisoned in Kane’s grasp. He seemed to have forgotten he held it, forcing her into an awkward position as she leaned across him, almost in his lap. She tugged experimentally. He didn’t let go, but turned his head to stare down at her, his features so close she could see the spiky length of his lashes, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes from squinting against the intense southern sunlight. His warm breath, faintly scented with mint, ghosted over her lips. Her stomach muscles tightened with a slow, drawing sensation she felt repeated in the lower part of her body.

  “I wanted to remind you about my shindig, cuz,” Luke drawled, his voice a shade louder than before. “I’m firing up the usual Memorial Day extravaganza at Chemin-a-Haut and expect my friends and neighbors to gather around. Regina is more than welcome. In fact, I’ll take it as an insult if you don’t bring her.”

  “Miss Dalton,” Kane said pointedly, “may not be here.”

  “Now that would be a shame. She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

  “Chemin-a-Haut?” Regina repeated, her interest snagged by the unfamiliar syllables. At the same time, she snatched her arm free in an abrupt gesture fueled by annoyance and the suspicion that Kane didn’t want her accepting his cousin’s invitation.

  “My humble abode,” Luke said, jerking a thumb toward the house behind them, “French for the High Road—some also say High-handed.” He grinned.

  “This, er, shindig is a party?”

  “An open house, sweetheart. Food and drink, music and dancing.” Luke propped his elbow on the truck’s side mirror. “Also fireworks, comets, shooting stars, flying saucers, heavenly artillery, fireworks to match your hair. It’s expensive and wasteful and damned hard work setting everything up, but everybody loves it, including me. Say you’ll come.”

  Voice laconic, Kane said, “It is something to see.”

  He was waiting for her answer, Regina saw, as was his cousin. It gave her a strange feeling, having them both watch her so closely. For an instant, she couldn’t think why, then she knew. She had their attention, their complete, courteous, almost deferential attention. Unlike most men she dealt with, they weren’t waiting impatiently, tapping their fingers, for her to answer. They weren’t planning what they were going to say next, or thinking of all the other things they needed to be doing, wished they were doing, elsewhere. It was disconcerting. It was also maddening.

  “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly as she met Luke’s gaze. “I have no idea if I’ll be here. It all depends on Mr. Crompton.”

  “Pop Lewis?” Luke asked cheerfully. “Hey, I can fix that.”

  “But you won’t,” Kane said, his voice taking on a hard note.

  “Won’t I?” Luke searched his cousin’s face, his humor fading.

  “No point,” Kane said in terse explanation. “The lady will be heading back to New York before the weekend, regardless.”

  “She has something to do with the suit, then?” Luke glanced toward Regina. “Don’t tell me you’re mixed up in that mess?”

  “Not at all,” she answered quickly, then compounded the lie by adding, “It’s nothing to do with me.”

  “Good girl. You don’t want to get in the way of a man’s obsession.”

  The muscles in Kane’s jaws gathered in a taut knot. “I’m not obsessed.”

  “You do a damned good imitation. Don’t you think so, Regina?”

  It sounded as if the argument was an old one. It might be foolish to comment on something between the two men that she didn’t fully understand, but it was too much to resist. With a faint smile, she said, “He does seem a bit preoccupied with it.”

  Luke shook his head. “We should distract him for his own good. How long did you say you’ll be around?”

  She explained briefly about the Crompton jewelry collection and her afternoon appointment, adding that she would be leaving if everything worked out satisfactorily.

  “Too bad,” Luke said, and heaved a deep sigh. Then he brightened. “But if you’re really here on business, I guess old Kane has no claim, right?”

  “Correct,” she agreed in brittle accents, though she refused to look at Kane.

  “How do you feel about fried seafood? There’s a great little catfish restaurant just outside Turn-Coupe where they serve shrimp and oysters in a batter so light that—”

  “Hold on.” Kane put up a hand. “The meeting with Pops may run long. He’ll expect Miss Dalton to stay for dinner. I’ve already alerted Dora, just in case.”

  “I asked her first,” Luke protested.

  The man beside Regina barely glanced her way before he said, “I don’t think Miss Dalton wants to jeopardize a hefty commission for the sake of fried shrimp.” Without waiting for an answer, he put the truck in gear and began to pull away.

  Luke stepped back hastily. Raising his voice, he yelled, “You’d better come to my party anyway!”

  “Don’t I always!” Kane called, and stuck his hand out the window in a backward wave before he drove off.

  Regina crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead of her through the windsh
ield. In chill tones, she said, “You might have let me answer for myself.”

  “You wanted to go to the catfish restaurant with Luke?”

  She was loath to give him the satisfaction of a direct answer. “I don’t need you to make my decisions for me.”

  “I guess you want to go back, then?” he countered, his smile tight. “You prefer to tell Luke yourself how you really don’t want to have dinner with him, but decided to turn him down in person just to show you can make up your own mind.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped.

  “Show a little appreciation, then. I did the dirty work for you, while you came out smelling like a rose.”

  He really was too much. “You actually think you were helping me?”

  He turned his head, watching her a moment, before he said abruptly, “Is it me you don’t like, or just men in general?”

  “I don’t dislike anybody,” she declared, shifting ground to meet this new challenge.

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Though the words came easily enough, she couldn’t hold his clear blue gaze.

  “You object to my company, don’t care to be touched, and can’t stand being close. What else am I to think?”

  The direction he had taken was not a comfortable one. She needed to distract him. She should also start taking advantage of being alone with him to do her job, before he got to his house and she was forced to do something that might alienate him for good.

  “You don’t have to think about me at all,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “I’m nothing to you. Actually, I’m surprised you’re wasting your time, unless this big lawsuit of yours is going so well it doesn’t matter.”

  He stared at her a long moment through narrowed eyes. “What makes you think it’s a big case?”

  “How everyone speaks of it, for one thing. How angry you were when you thought I had something to do with it, for another. So what’s happening? Is it dull, legal stuff or something more dramatic?”

  “You don’t really want to know.”

  The dismissive comment grated on her strained nerves. “It’s something to talk about.”

  “I prefer other things. For instance, how come you aren’t married?”

  This wasn’t what she had in mind, but some kind of answer was required. “Who says I’m not?”

  “You aren’t wearing a ring.”

  He had mentioned that before. She should have remembered it. Hastily, she said, “Some women don’t wear rings these days, just as some women keep their maiden names.”

  “Is that what you’re doing,” he asked, “or are you avoiding a straight answer?”

  A flush began at her collar and rose to her hairline. Being evasive was as natural to her as breathing, a self-protective measure with infinite uses. She only lied outright if pressured into it, but often led people into the paths she wanted them to go, coloring the truth a little here and there to make herself more interesting, more normal, or less visible, according to what was needed. Few people recognized it or cared enough to call her on it. She might have known this man would be one of the few.

  “No,” she said baldly, “I’m not married.”

  “But you implied you were.”

  “What does it matter?” Embarrassment and irritation made her snappish.

  “It doesn’t.” His voice was flat as he turned his attention to the road, slowing as they approached a driveway ahead of them. “That’s why it makes no sense. Never mind, forget I asked.”

  She would be glad to forget it. She did, too, the instant she noticed they were turning into the drive, then saw the house at the end of it.

  It was a Southern dream, a Greek Revival temple, square, white, two-storied, with galleries on all four sides that were lined with rows of massive columns reaching to the roof of ancient, moss-grown slate. The columns, of a girth too wide for a man to reach around, were plaster-covered brick. The steps, which led up to the front gallery, curved in the style known as welcoming arms. There was grace and ancient peace in the majestic size of the place and also in the protective embrace of the huge live oaks that dotted the lawn. Similar scenes were familiar from a hundred magazine pictures and movies about the Old South, so Regina was forced to wonder if she only imagined its air of gracious hospitality, gracious living, or if it was real. Either way, it was still impressive.

  “Come inside a moment,” Kane said as he pulled up on the circular drive before the front door and started to get out. “I’m sure I can find you a cup of coffee.”

  She settled more firmly in her seat. Voice stiff, she said, “No, thanks.”

  “I’ll be a few minutes, and you may as well be comfortable.”

  “No,” she repeated more forcefully.

  A faint smile tugged one corner of his mouth and he shook his head. “This isn’t a seduction scene, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s been a long time since I threw anybody down in the middle of a hardwood floor and had my way with them.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said tartly as she looked away from the amusement in his eyes. “But I’ll still wait here.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Regina flinched as the truck door slammed shut behind him. Then she lifted a shoulder. Let him get mad, she didn’t care. She hadn’t been taken in by his maneuvering, and wasn’t going to be. That he’d gone striding into the house like a man who really had forgotten some papers changed nothing. She sighed, then leaned her head against the back of the seat.

  The mental image his words had sketched was a potent one. She could almost see Kane drawing a woman down with him to a polished, rug-strewn floor. His shoulders would block out the light as he hovered above her. Behind his head, the celestial blue of the painted ceiling would swim with a misty swirl of clouds and cherubs and shimmering sun rays. Then he would—

  A light tap came on the window beside Regina. The daydream fled and she swung with a sharp gasp to see an older woman standing beside the truck. She was slender and poised, her hair graying in a manner as natural as it was attractive. She bore a strong resemblance to Kane. Regina reached to wind down the glass.

  “Good morning, my dear. I’m Vivian Benedict, Kane’s aunt. He told me you were out here. Won’t you come inside for a cup of coffee, or tea? I have a nice fig cake, warm from the oven.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Nonsense! Everybody needs a little pick-me-up this time of morning.” The older woman reached for the door handle and pulled it open, rattling on in the easy manner of someone who loved to talk. “I understand you’re interested in his grandmother’s old jewelry. I can tell you about a great many of the pieces, where they came from, whom they belonged to—more so than Mr. Lewis can, I daresay. His wife, Miss Mary Sue, was a good friend of my mother’s, and Kane’s mother, Donna, and I played together as girls long before we became sisters-in-law. We were sometimes allowed to dress up in Miss Mary Sue’s jewels, under strict supervision, of course. Come now, I simply won’t take no for an answer.”

  It was impossible to resist that gently persistent urging. In any case, Regina wasn’t sure she wanted to try. The house intrigued her with its aged grandeur. Kane’s aunt was as charming as she was talkative. And it hardly seemed Kane would be likely to throw her down in the living room or anywhere else with the older woman on the premises.

  She really had misjudged him. She hoped he didn’t realize how much, but suspected he had sent his aunt because he understood her feelings only too well.

  Why was he being so nice to her? she wondered. Was this the famous Southern hospitality everybody talked about, or something extra? What was he after with his kindness and questioning? What did he hope to gain when he had no idea who she was or why she was in Turn-Coupe?

  At least, she hoped he had none.

  She shouldn’t be here, she thought as she climbed the steps to the front door and stepped into the long central hall that stretched through the
house to French doors at the far end. She should be in town making as nice as possible to Lewis Crompton instead of riding around the countryside with his grandson. It had been ridiculous to let herself be distracted and more stupid still to think she was going to get anything from a lawyer.

  For all she knew, the elaborate schedule Kane had given for his grandfather might have been a fabrication, and the old gentleman was wondering where she was and why she hadn’t contacted him this morning. She should insist that Kane take her straight back to the motel, then call Crompton at the funeral home. Yes, that was exactly what she should do at the first opportunity.

  With that plan in mind, Regina felt better. She was even able to relax a little as she was led into the back wing of the house and seated in a bright breakfast room done in shades of fresh green and located just off an expansive country kitchen. The spicy aroma of the fig cake filled the air. The piece put on her plate was thick, moist, studded with pieces of dark and sweet preserved fruit, and glazed with a warm caramel sauce rich with pecans. The china it was served on was eggshell-thin Old Paris, the napkin beside it starched damask, and the fork she was handed ornate and heavy sterling. Against her will, Regina was impressed.

  She was out of her depth.

  “This is very nice,” she said, “but I thought Kane was only going to be a minute.”

  “You like the cake? It’s a recipe I’m developing for Southern Living Magazine.”

  “They pay you?”

  “No, no, it’s just something to keep my mind occupied, though my waistline would be in better shape if I’d pick another hobby. As for Kane, you’ll have to forgive him, my dear. He had a couple of calls to return—he’s so busy these days.” The older woman brought her own cake and coffee and seated herself opposite Regina.

  Regina watched Kane’s aunt a moment. She was a little plump maybe, but had fine eyes and gracefully molded facial features. Though she joked about her appearance, it was obvious it didn’t bother her; she had absolutely none of the air of an aging female straining after her youth. Her dress of cotton knit in a vivid teal was generously cut and the same color as her eyes. The smile with which she returned Regina’s gaze was open and serene. It was also a little quizzical.